Fighting Without Fighting
Fighting Without Fighting is an encounter in The Battle for Krezzor. Enemies * Kwai-Shin Warrior (1235 Gold, 152 XP, 95 Energy, 7 HP) * Wunquan (1300 Gold, 160 XP, 100 Energy, 7 HP) Transcript Introduction Last night... "Wunquan's warriors are fewer in number than the other armies," Druka says. "But their powers..." He waves his hand. The image of a green demon appears over the table, a being whose pendulous gut and thick limbs are laden with fat but still bear hints of the hard, powerful muscles beneath. A strange hat or crown adorns his head. A silk robe hangs around one shoulder and girds his loins. Both garments are familiar -- it's a style of garb which originated in Nine Rivers and the surrounding nations. "Kwai-shin?" you ask. Druka nods. So these are the demons spoken of in the tales, philosophies, and grimoires of the eastern lands. You've read of them, but never laid eyes on one before. A tree appears next to the demon in the illusion -- a great, thick infernal thing that reminds you of a twisted, blackened oak. He grunts, making his gut undulate. Then his right arm thrusts outward, driving the heel of his hand against the wood. Splinters fly in all directions as it breaks. "Impressive," Brachus says. "Chi," one of your companions replies. All eyes turn to him. But if the elf is perturbed by the sudden scrutiny, it doesn't disturb the calm equanimity of his expression. The garment he wears on his torso is similar to the demon's -- but gold instead of blue. The color of his order. "We of the Golden Garden have fought such creatures before. If you will permit me to lead the warriors we send against them..." His gaze meets yours, and you find yourself nodding. The elf presses his right fist against his left palm as he bows. *** Irclis of the Golden Garden indicated for his companions to stay behind. He sensed their stares on his back, and knew they thought he was insane. The elf smiled. There were those among his order who held that sanity was a barrier to enlightenment. The kwai-shin were a short distance away, disposing of a band of rival demons -- the minions of another infernal lord who'd cast his avaricious gaze on Krezzor. The monk sighed at the futility of such vainglorious avarice. But he found some solace in studying the techniques with which the kwai-shin were rupturing organs and shattering bones. These fiends were skilled. Their fists and feet, knees and elbows, struck with swiftness and precision. Yet there were flaws, where barbaric fury robbed the moves of their meditative grace. He shook his head. It was sad to see such debasement of what was at its core a form of physical philosophy. Many of the rival demons were fleeing, running in all directions. One of them sped towards Irclis. The monk lashed out in the Forked Cobra strike without breaking his stride, shattering the fiend's temple. Irclis came to a halt a mere dozen paces from the foremost of the kwai-shin. Some of the fiends were staring at him, while others finished the survivors. The elf announced himself. But not with speech. Instead he reached out with his chi -- a forceful, beckoning cry of the spirit, akin to a duelist striking a man's face with his glove. It was a challenge the kwai-shin couldn't refuse. And as he read the flow of their chi, each one a blazing, corrupted brazier, the monk's gaze gravitated towards their champion. It wasn't Wunquan, the fat green demon, whose energy reached out to meet the monk's. Rather it was a well-built fiend with orange flesh girded in brown armored plates. He was disposing of his last foe, cracking the victim's spine with a thrust of his right leg. The fiend stepped over the corpse, and assumed his fighting stance. Irclis did the same. Conclusion The elf didn't move. Nor did the demon. They remained frozen in their stances, their bodies motionless save for the sweat which beaded on their brows and trickled down their faces. Some distance behind Irclis, his companions were murmuring in confusion. But they remained there, as he'd bidden them. As for the rest of the kwai-shin, they observed in silence. Chi clashed and mingled with chi, two great invisible rivers meeting and becoming part of the same antagonistic ebb and flow. In the depths of their being, Irclis and the warrior fought like tigers or dragons. Endless streams of blows and blocks passed before their minds' eyes. High kick, low sweep, lunging punch, twisting palm strike... And it wasn't one battle, but a myriad. All possibilities, each permutation of attack and defense. Every potential future of their martial dance hung in the air between them, each strike and parry opening up a dozen possibilities -- routes of survival and destruction blossoming like lotus flowers. But in the end the paths converged, and all eventualities hardened into a single inevitability. There was no doubting what the outcome would be if they fought in the flesh. The monk and the demon left their stances and bowed. Then the fiend raised his hands to his head, and gave a swift, sharp wrench. The elf's companions gasped when the demon's neck snapped. The kwai-shin made no sound. Yet the monk sensed the change in their chi. Their spirits were broken. They would be defeated. Irclis gave the signal, and his comrades charged. Category:The Battle for Krezzor